A Little Push
by TheIllustriousMadamRed
Summary: Sometimes, what you really need, is just a little push.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter one

 _'A Ridiculous Impossibility'_

There were two of them.

It was an impossibility. A perfectly ridiculous impossibility.

And she's rather aware of the mathematical equations necessary to prove that it was an impossibility. But at this point, she doesn't really care.

Two Colonel Jack O'Neill's.

Honestly she should really be focusing on…well anything other than this. But she can't. Because while she is a certified genius, none of that matters when the only thought that makes even the slightest bit of sense is _'Holy crap'_

Her startled and somewhat hormonally driven mind notices that they're in perfect sync. Though she doubts that they'd have noticed that. It means that she gets the chance to watch those tiny movements she adores happen in tandem. The way he rubs a tanned hand through his short military cut greying hair, the frustration he feels evident in the sharp movement. The way he crosses his arms in a way that tightens his shirt just right over the biceps of his arms. It's fascinating. And damn it she doesn't have time to be fascinated by him.

Logically she knows that one of them is a robot. Designed and manufactured by Harlan for a purpose they're not quite aware of. She's even pretty sure which one it is. But the thing is, it's such a well-toned replica of him that it's hard to remember he's not real. Because what she really wants is to see if he is a complete replica.

It intrudes on her awareness that he was saying something. Usually his voice was a balm to her senses, enough that it was often impossible for her to fully tune him out as she does with others. But right now she's utterly engrossed in the idea of peeling that tight black t-shirt off of him and finally giving in to the heat that's flickered between them for such a long time.

Her eyes finally drift back to his face, only to note that there's now the faintest amusement in his eyes. As if he's all too aware of the path her thoughts have taken. And it takes all of her willpower not to blush like a high school girl in front of her crush.

"Carter?" Jack spoke, interjecting into the now silent room. She blinked, a quick flutter of lashes against cheeks, a swift convulsive swallow in her suddenly dry throat, and she finally managed to speak, "Sorry. It's just surreal."

O'Neill…both of them, gave her the same look. The raised eyebrow and that little quirk of the mouth that she's dreamed of kissing far too many times for her to be entirely comfortable with it happening in public.

"How do you think I feel?" her Jack says, his voice just that tiniest bit more gravelly than his robot counterpart seems to manage. He looked at his double with disdain and irritation. Heat arcs between them, not the passionate sparks that have been known to fly between herself and him, but rather the kind that promised violence. It was probably all kinds of wrong for her, but she really, really liked that look.

"Yeah, well I don't like it either." The robot Jack growls out. They're squaring up now, as if to come to blows. She's seen that look in his eyes before, the moment before he lashes out in a fight. For a moment she's apprehensive, because if one of them kills the other, then there will be a huge mess that can only end in heartache.

But before she can dwell on that for too long, rationality reminds her that she knows them better than that. Jack is a hell of a soldier, more disciplined than he appeared. As much as they might tussle, they've both got enough skill to stop it going further.

There's a narrowing in his dark eyes, the slightest shift of posture that promises violence. She wonders idly if the sprinklers will activate in here if she spontaneously combusts. Because if they fight she might just manage it.

No. In the interest of sanity. In the interest of not ruining her lab equipment with a impromptu shower, she needs to stop it here.

"Sir!"

As expected her voice stops them, they both snap their attention to her in a way that makes her ever so slightly weak in the knees. Oh the possibilities.

"If you're going to fight, take it out of my lab."

She's proud that her voice doesn't shake. She admires the way it most certainly does not reveal that them leaving her lab is the last thing she wants.

Something glitters in his eyes. The duo lock gazes, subtly communicating something. And she feels her heart start to race. That fluttering foolish thing she's locked up behind bars now presses against her insides. Her Jack moves forward, leaning on her desk and tilting his head in just the right way. The way she's imagined so many damn times, the exact way he'd tilt his head to give her access to his chin and throat.

"Something wrong Carter?

Damn him.

His tone is jovial, teasing. But there's a knowledge in his eyes. An awareness of exactly how weak her knees have become. How the gentle steadying grasp she had on her desk at the start of this conversation has turned into a white knuckled attempt to keep herself standing.

"I just don't want you to damage anything in here. This stuff is very expensive."

But she knows that her eyes betray her. She's an excellent actress, most of the time. But there are moments. Moments like this when she's damn near delirious with wanting. When she's just too damn tired of dancing on the edge of the line between them. Part of her knows this is because she's just drained from the complexity of the problems that she's facing. She's pushed herself with very few hours of sleep, unable to leave this problem behind. Now she's paying the price for that. Because while it's important for her to be strong, all she wants is to be very very weak.

There's a part of her brain, the part of her that isn't currently providing helpful suggestions as to what they could accomplish with two Jacks, wonders if he ever feels this way. This fire, this strange need that turns her blood to kindling. She knows that he wants her, they've both stood on the edges of that line far too often for her not to know. But she does wonder if it ever robs him of rational thought. It's a little unfair if she's the only one who loses all sense of rationality.

He shifts, the tiniest of movements but it snaps her out of her thoughts, so she hears him when he says, "Yeah, half this stuff I don't even know how to pronounce, let alone replace."

He does that a lot, she notices. Pretends that he's dumber than he is. It's a way of protecting himself. It makes his enemies underestimate him more often than they have cause to. They see a foolish GI, but he's got the brains to outthink them.

Half of her wants him to come around that table and finally do what they've both been waiting on. The other half is considering the viability of vaulting the table and crash tackling him. But at least, for once, both halves are in agreement. She wants him.

His pupils dilate, a warm welcoming darkness forming in his gaze. His tongue touches the edges of his lips, and his gaze is briefly focused on her mouth. He is, she thinks, imagining what it would be like to kiss her.

Suddenly there is a presence behind her. But instead of making her tense, there is just warmth and heat. As if she already recognised him. She realises then that the Robot Jack has slipped out of her eyesight. With a thundering heart she knows he's standing right behind her. He leans forward, hands on either side of hers on the desk. Though such a position should have had him plastered against her back, there was somehow a careful distance between them.

He murmurs into her ear, "You're shaking. You okay?"

She can't help the reflexive swallow that his voice provokes. The real Jack is staring at her, some strange heat in his expression. It takes her a moment, but she understands that it's a shade of jealousy. Though the person behind her is a spitting image of him, he's exactly where the real one would like to be.

She suddenly can't seem to draw enough air into her lungs. The room feels almost too warm. All she really wants is to lean back. To ease the almost desperate needs for touch that he has invoked in her.

"I'm fine."

Her voice doesn't tremble. But she does. And the robot chuckles behind her, "are you sure?"

Her lips part, her tongue darting out to moisten them in a too quick motion she didn't exactly give permission for her body to make.

She needs to find her feet. Needs to send them away before she can't. Because that moment is rapidly approaching. The real Jack moves, stepping around her table and moving closer to her, "You're looking a bit red there Carter."

In contrast to the rich thick tenor of the robot, his voice is still slightly jovial, with that edge of caring.

God.

They've got to stop.

They've got to stop this before they can't. Before she considers just how tenuous the line between them truly is. Before she understands that all she has to do is reach out. Because if she does, they'll fall. And while the falling would be something glorious, they could lose everything. And she can't take this place from him, nor stand it being taken from her. They need it to survive, the same way they need oxygen and water.

Her eyes fall closed, prickling, burning beneath closed lids she fights back tears. Because this is cruel. Taunting her with what she's wanted and never been able to claim.

"Please."

"She's not sure if she's asking him to leave, or to take that step for her. The robot moves from behind her as the real Jack finally situates himself at her side. She can feel the heat of him barely inches away from her hand. But at her muttered word he has frozen.

No doubt he's asking himself the same question. To step forward or back. To fall or to respectfully toe the line and pretend that they're just friends.

They stand there. Frozen at a cliffs edge. Perfectly poised to tumble down, with such a glorious flight awaiting them. He draws in a shuddering breath, obviously fighting himself as she fights against herself.

And suddenly there is movement. A warm hand is gripping her jaw, turning her head so that he can claim her mouth with a hot possessive kiss.

She's never been kissed like this before. Sure there were others in her past, but their kisses had been shades compared to this. This heat, this fierce fire that threatens to engulf them beyond all hope of rationality. She's barely aware of her body and turning and sinking against his, only that she needs to be closer. That she needs to feel the heat he has with herself or she'll freeze. Though he's older than her, he's certainly not allowed the years to diminish him. The body beneath her hands is firm. The mouth that kisses hers is temptingly dexterous.

All too suddenly he wrenches his mouth from hers, gasping for breath. And she stares up at him, surprised and dazed. His eyes, however, are not those of a man who has been kissed senseless. They are those of a man who is torn in the direst of ways. They are the eyes of a man faced with an impossibly painful choice and knowing that it had to be a bad one.

"This…this isn't right. We can't do this." He sounds as if he would rather be saying anything else. But she understands it for what it is. The rejection regulations demand that they say. The careful establishment of a far more tangible line in the sand. A line that says this far and no further.

"Jack." Her voice is soft, shock and hurt carrying undertones like sharpened daggers.

"Sam. We can't." Anguish colours his tone. The back of her mind, strangely detached from this situation in the same way one goes into shock, notes that she's never heard this kind of pain in his voice before. But for all that she rails against it, he's right. It's stupid, and wrong and it's everything she's ever wanted.

"I know." It seems as if they'll both leave this conversation bleeding. Because though their words are polite, civil even, the meaning behind them is agonizing. Though her body cries out against it, she disentangles herself from him. Her hands flutter about her face, smoothing her hair with an almost frantic quality to her movement.

"Sam. I-"

"Out. Please." She cannot listen to him make apologies. She can't deal with that right now. Because it's taking everything she has to keep it together. Surprisingly it's the robot O'Neill that comes to her rescue, taking his real world counterpart and practically dragging him from the room.

She doesn't watch them go. Instead relying on the sound of the door closing to let her know that they've finally left.

* * *

 _Authors note:_

 _Hello Again people ;) it's been a while since my last story, and i apologize for that. things got pretty busy with me, so I've not had as much time as i'd like to write. on the plus side i did manage to get accepted into a Masters of Research, so Boo ya on that ;)_

 _hopefully you will enjoy this, and as always let me know what you think. it really does make a difference to me and i always appreciate it :D_

 _Ta ta for now ;)_

 _~MadamRed_


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

 _'Falling, but with style.'_

She throws herself into work. Into twisting mathematical equations that so desperately need her attention. She tries to make order out of nonsensical numbers and for the most part she succeeds. Time passes, as was its prerogative, and she tries to put that kiss out of her mind. There's a bigger problem to deal with here. Someone had made duplicates of them after all, and they don't know why.

Unfortunately answers like that don't always make sense. And when they find out, they have a few moments before it is over. The robot duplicates are destroyed, powered down, deleted, whichever adjective applied to them when they stopped functioning.

It's painful to watch it happen. She watches as the robot Jack looks over at her, a gentle smile on his lips completely at odds with the nature of what is happening to him. It's… intolerable to watch even a replica of him die. The only thing that stops her rushing to his side is the knowledge that for all that he looked and acted like him, he was not Jack.

They all leave the area a little quieter after that. Travelling back through the Stargate, back home. Images of what they've seen lurking on the edges of their minds like phantom nightmares. And even though she gets back to her labs she can't tear her mind away from that image. She muses, staring at the wall, about what she had seen and felt. The way it had seemed as if a pit had opened up inside her, the looming threat of his fate far more intimidating than any Goa'uld she's faced.

For all the roles she played, all the names she claimed; genius, woman, soldier. There two things that she was not.

First. She was not a fool, and not in the habit of denying harsh truths to herself. How she felt about him was never up for debate. She knew it, in the same way she knew that the Stargate needed a DHD to make a stable wormhole.

Secondly, she was not a coward. People had called her hard-headed, stubborn and occasionally more insulting nicknames. But she'd never shied away from something she knew she could do. Her persistence led her to this place, to being one of the top scientists in the world and one of the foremost experts on the Stargate. A career she'd never even dreamed of.

So she makes a choice.

It's not exactly a choice made in the rational forefront of her mind. It's one of the only choices in her life that she hasn't methodically considered all the ramifications for. It's born of a simple knowledge in the core of her. Things cannot stay like this. This strained silence between them. Strangled by the words they want to say and can't. She won't allow it to continue any longer.

They need to clear the air.

And if all that happens is pain, if all that happens is another line permanently etched in the sand between them, then fine. But the state in which she exists now is unbearable.

If he had never kissed her.

If they had never touched in that way, then maybe they could have continued as they were. But in kissing her, he has set in motion a tidal wave of change. A wave that's swept her up and brought her to his doorstep on one of their rare days off.

She knocks three times. The sound is sharp even though she's wearing gloves. The air is bitingly cold, seeping in past the jacket she wears to settle in her bones. The silence drags on, and for a moment she's afraid that he won't answer. That's she'll be left on this porch like some jilted over. Maybe he knows that it's her and he's not answering the door because he knows she's there.

Doubts flood into her mind, a bitter sour taste in her mouth. Damn it. She's faced down Aliens, solved problems that people weren't even aware existed. She's done things that few on earth could comprehend. She refuses to be intimidated by a damned door.

But…

What if the kiss had been an impulsive thing?

What if he didn't really want her, he just wanted the allure of the forbidden?

What if he was just very possessive, and seeing the other him go where he had not, just incited some strange alpha male tendency?

…What if this was his way of telling her without having to say the words?

She knocks again, harder this time, feeling the sting of it even through her gloves. There is no answer, and her heart hammers painfully.

Maybe he's gone out? Maybe he's just not home, and she'll have try again tomorrow.

But she knows that if she leaves now she'll talk herself out of coming back.

Seconds tick by, the wind was beginning to pick up, that unwelcome chill intensifying with the promise of rain in the air. Again she knocks, three sharp raps.

And just as she is certain he wont answer, there is a muffled sound from inside, "Coming!"

The door opens, and she's certain she's never seen him so shocked. Her senses catalogue everything about him. the faint hint of beer exuding around him, the loose fitting army green t-shirt that draped itself on his form. Her heart gives a funny painful little thump.

"Hello Jack." She avoids her traditional address of 'Sir', the topic she's come to discuss is not exactly going to be helped by reminding him that he's technically her superior officer. But his name sounds strange on her tongue, a forbidden thrill. He swallows, taking the sight of her in, windswept short blonde hair and a reddened wind chilled nose.

"Carter?" his voice is soft, slightly rougher than usual.

She fixes her eyes on his and asks, "Can I come in?"

Pain splinters his gaze, shards drifting across his eyes like fragments of ice, "I don't know if that's such a good idea."

He's probably right. She knows that. But it will not stop her. "We should talk. We could do that out here, in the cold, or we could do it inside. I vote inside, as it has beer."

He chuckles at that, and the sound relieves her more than she cares to admit. He steps aside to allow her to pass and she does so, shedding her winter coat as she goes. It feels peculiarly like taking off a piece of Kevlar. Her stomach is knots, as if she is on a rollercoaster poised at the edge of a great drop. Logically she knows what will happen, but part of her is determined to pretend that it's not going to.

He pads to the kitchen, grabbing a beer from the fridge and passing it to her. Though she opens it and takes a sip, she doesn't take the long drink she desperately wants to. Because if this goes bad she wants to be able to make her escape safely. The bottle is cool in her hands, and holding it steadies her, just a little.

She draws a breath, calling on years of having to fight to be heard, to keep her calm now. In contrast to her, he's just watching, waiting for her to speak. Oddly, he reminds her of a large cat, lying in wait. Those damnable eyes appearing to look past her strong exterior to the more vulnerable interior. As a scientist she knows that it's impossible, but she can't shake the feeling.

"I can't keep doing this Jack." He flinches. But she can't allow that to deter her. "I can't keep pretending there is nothing between us. I don't know what you feel. But I won't lie to myself any longer." He seems almost afraid. As if the words she's saying have far more weight than they should. As if they could potentially shatter them both. And the funny thing is, they do have that power, "I'm in love with you."

Strangely the words don't feel like a burden lifted from her shoulders, as if she had been bowed under the weight of keeping them hidden. Rather it feels irrevocably right to say them. As if it's a truth and a fact as much as gravity is. Shock paints his features, and he sucks in a sharp breath.

"Sam." His voice is soft, wondrous. But she hasn't finished, and she has to do so now before the words stick in her throat. Before he tells her that it cannot work between them.

"I know I'm not supposed to say that. I know I'm supposed to pretend that nothing has changed. But you kissed me Jack. You kissed me and it mattered!" She feels as if the drop has begun. She's flung herself over the edge and for the moment it feels like she's falling. Her teeth clasp and release her lower lip, a brief nervous gesture as she continues, "And then I watched you die. I watched a man with your face die. All I could think was what if that had been you? If I had left it as it was, if I just let it go and you'd died, I'd regret never telling you."

Suddenly he's embracing her, arms wrapped around her with a comforting strength, pressing her against him. Again she feels this strange sense that this is right. That this is where she's supposed to be. His heart, she notes, is racing. Thundering alongside her own.

Finally, he draws in a breath and begins to speak.

"This…I…" he pauses, and she's seized by a sudden terrible fear. Whatever he says next will change things between them, and she's almost certain he's going to cast that line in her teeth. Hope is there, precarious and fragile though, keeping her hovering anxiously between the two choices. "I'm in love with you Carter."

It's not the denial she feared, and the sudden wash of relief fizzes inside her. Exhilarated laughter escapes from her lips, the first sound almost bordering on a sob. Finally they know. It's been said aloud, words shining between them, etched in the air and unable to be withdrawn. Beneath that relief is amusement. He's called her Carter. Somehow that feels more fitting than her first name in his mouth. He squeezes her, arms constricting comfortingly. Thankfully he seems to understand why she's laughing.

"Did you think I didn't?" His voice is soft, a slightly amused rumble at her ear. It sends a thrill down her spine.

"Part of me did."

She feels his chuckle vibrate his chest, "Guess I can still pull one over on you, Hmm?"

But there's fondness in that teasing tone. She shifts into the embrace, enjoying the simple warmth it provides.

"So what do we do Jack?"

He considers her muffled question. Giving it the attention the problem deserved. Moments ticked by, but she didn't feel the need to pull away.

Eventually, "Well, First" at his prompting she lifts her chin, finally looking him in the eyes again. He smiled down at her, "I would like to kiss you again."

She cannot fight the answering smile on her face, even if she wanted to. Barely a second later he kisses her. It's sentimental, and wonderful and she doesn't care if the rest of the world stops turning. Because all she wants is this moment to go on forever. She wants to spend a very long time discovering new ways of kissing him, of tasting his soul in his mouth, finding the intriguing combinations that kisses can come in. Judging by the way he groaned and shifted against her, similar thoughts were flooding his mind.

Answers, she thought distractedly, though important, could come later.

* * *

 _Authors Note: Thank you to the people who reviewed, who i was unable to reply directly to :)_

 _Hopefully you like this chapter, please tell me what you think in that pretty little review box down below._

 _Anyway, i hope everyone is having a spectacular day :D_

 _Ta ta for now_

 _~Madamred_


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

'Spinning Stars'

Though sentimental and sweet that first kiss unleashed something. It sparked a fire that set them alight, that consumed all rational thought and reason. The knowledge that they'd both chosen to step across the line, to finally embrace what they'd been denying for so very long made restraint or control nearly impossible. She couldn't be close enough to him, and the kiss evolved from that gentle explorative touch to something harder. Something that danced on the edge of pain. He almost drags her against him, desperate as she is, to be somehow closer than they are. She doesn't struggle, instead she presses herself closer still, fingers digging desperately into his clothes.

She's vaguely aware of his hands skimming down her back, the touch leaving tingles in its wake. He pulls, and she goes up with the gesture, barely aware of anything other than the taste of him on her lips, the harsh breathless pants that they both make in their frantic movements.

The world spins, but at that exact moment he changes the angle of their kiss and she experiences a new angle of looting. The taste of him sliding across her senses, far more intoxicating than any alcohol she's ever tasted. His shirt parts like water under her eager fingers, and the first touch of his skin against hers sends a delicious tremble down her spine. It's not the first time they've touched. But this is different. This is shiny and new, once forbidden flesh now brought out to be sampled. He feeds at her mouth savagely, drawing soft eager noises from her throat.

They've been waiting too long, wanting in delirious desperation, for this to be anything resembling gentle. There is too much fire, too much heat through them for this to be the slow possessive love that they're both in need of. But she doesn't want slow, at least not right now anyway. There would be plenty of time for that later. What she wants is the fierce possession his strength promises. She wants him to sink inside her and shatter with her, imprint the taste and touch and feel of him on her insides to prove that this isn't some fantastic dream.

He breaks away from her mouth, and she's suddenly falling backwards. A flicker of fear appears and disappears as she lands on the surprisingly soft bed. He catches himself above her, her legs still resting loosely around his waist. The weight of him is exactly what she wants, a pressure where she needs it, but frustratingly not enough. Distantly she realises that when she'd imagined the world spinning, it actually had been. He'd picked her up and carried her into his room.

She looks up at him, taking in his kiss swollen lips, dark eyes and flushed skin, and she shivers. It's a look she's only seen in the hottest parts of her dreams. Her throat convulses, and his eyes drift down her face, a predatory smile flickering to life on his lips. Everything in his gaze when he is looking at her is proclaiming 'Mine.' And she really, really likes that look. He kisses her again, deep and devouring, and whatever movements she'd made towards rationality were lost. Her hands scrabble at his belt, and now that he doesn't have to hold her up, he does the same at her belt. As soon as his fingers touch her bared skin, everything is shiny. A new sensation of touching and being touched by someone that mattered. A wicked sense of intimacy far stronger than it should have been for such innocent places. He breaks from her briefly, tugging her pants away and shucking his own. Much as she'd like the chance to explore, there isn't time for that. She needs him, more than she thought possible to need someone else.

And then finally, finally they're skin to skin. A glorious sensual caress that spills sounds out of her mouth that she doesn't quite give permission for her mouth to make. He mutters her last name like a prayer and sinks into her. He's bigger than she'd thought he'd be, and the sensation is just this edge of pain. But through that there's something sweeter. A thrill building in the fine tremble of her muscles. It's the kind of thrill that makes her arch against him, against the sensations of his ingress, rather than pulling away.

His grip on her hip is bruising, fingers biting into the soft skin of her waist. But she relishes it, the pain is nothing to the exquisite fire that he was building inside of her. His mouth worships at her skin, licking, nipping, and biting at her neck as his body plunged into hers. It was a fierce rhythm, but she matched him stroke for stroke, dancing alongside the press of his body.

His free hand seeks out hers, gripping it and intertwining it with their fingers. She's trying to comprehend what's happening, the pleasure washing over is almost unbearable in its intensity. His name is dropping from her lips in a babbling stream, a fervent whisper as he scrambled her mind. And with every groan or gasp she makes, he mimics it.

It's hard and possessive. She's damn sure going to feel it tomorrow. But she doesn't care. This is exactly what she wants, better than she could have dreamed. It was a sweetness on the kiss of a knife, painful yet somehow intoxicating. And the thought that it's him, it's finally him, dancing her along this path is too much.

She shatters. Crystalline fragments of her mind lit up by sparkling new sensations. Her body convulses and breaks apart, nails unthinkingly digging into his skin, voice crying out in the hushed silence of the room, wrapping herself around him as he shatters with her.

As she drifts down from that mind numbing place, she cannot help but smile. Not just because of the pleasure that she'd felt. But because this was only the first of many.

She cannot wait to dance alongside him again.

* * *

 _Authors note: Thank you to those that reviewed, especially to the ones that I couldnt thank with a message because of a guest account._

 _Your kind words are greatly appreciated ;)_

 _I hope everyone is still enjoying this story, and I apologise that this chapter is a bit shorter than the others. It didnt feel right to stretch it out any further :)_

 _Anyway, please dont forget to tell me what you think in that shiny little box down below ;)_

 _Ta ta for now,_

 _~MadamRed_


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

 _'_ _Finding Peace.'_

 _3 months later_

She traces the edges of his smile.

They're lying together, sprawled across a messy bed in his lakeside cabin. His hands resting comfortably on her bare waist, and she's resting atop him. She's always liked his smile, always suffered from that strange compulsion to trace her fingers around the edges of it. Now that she can, she indulges herself. He takes her ministrations easily, laughter bubbling on the edges of their conversation. The gentle glow of the moon highlights them both from the window. It's peaceful, serene. Exactly what they both needed.

She marvels at how comfortable she feels here. She'd thought once, that when the walls between them fell, when they crossed that endlessly frustrating line they would regret it. That the pressure of trying to maintain her relationship beneath the watchful eyes of their superiors would make her uncomfortable in her own skin. But she isn't. It's just…quiet.

It's nice not to have to worry about the world ending, or about the damned Goa'uld threatening to kill them all, or worse enslave them. She'd almost forgotten that a world like this existed. That there was more to life than complex mathematical equations, twisting turning numbers to solve impossible problems and gunfire.

The way he smiles at her. The sparkling gleam in his eyes, the faint possessiveness in his touch. She can tell he feels much the same. She's thankful though, that they served together before this. Being his 2IC forged a bond between them that some people go their entire lives without finding. They've already got a rhythm, a routine that gives them comfort. This relationship is only an extra layer of heat on top of that.

She knows, without words, when he needs some space. Not because he's suddenly tired of her or that her presence is overwhelming. But because there are moments when he feels too raw, too vulnerable to stand company. He's used to retreating in moments like these and she lets him. She knows that he'll come back to her when he can. Likewise he knows when to leave her alone. Though he may joke around, nag her until she's ready to pull her hair out on far too many occasions, when she's truly working or busy he lets her be. He does bring her coffee though. Which is nice, but she still doesn't understand how he manages to leave it without her noticing.

It's funny how easily they've settled into their lives together. How so little has actually changed, yet it feels monumental. She's not the odd duck here. She doesn't feel self conscious of showing off her intelligence. Not that her previous partners tried to make her feel that way, it was just a sense elicited in their presence. But with him? He's seen her at her absolute worst, and perhaps at her best. He knew she was smart before they'd started this. He was fond of saying it was one of the reasons he'd fallen for her. When she'd laughed that off, he'd simply tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and proceeded to list exactly what it was that she'd said. It had awed her, surprised her, and in one fell swoop, completely enamoured her.

That was not to say that the entirety of their relationship was gentle. There were still times when fire caught at the kindling of their skin. When they'd barely made it inside before his mouth was on hers, hot and demanding, hands delving inside her clothes. A frantic thing, desperation and heat coming together and promising to consume them both.

They come together like lightning. Hot and hard, sharp edges and soft curves. Bruising hands around her wrists, the heavy feel of him buried within her, and the way they shatter together like colliding stars. Since she's had the occasion to watch colliding stars she's pretty sure it's an apt metaphor. It feels as if they break apart, as if parts of them scatter to the winds and fuse together in a delirious dance of sensation.

He suddenly stirs from his peaceful contemplation, nipping at her fingers with a devilish gleam in his eyes. His hand captures her head, and as she laughs, pulls her down to kiss her with the serious kind of intent that makes her heart throb in her chest.

It is much, much later when she wakes. Languorous and sweet. Body warm and liquid with satisfaction, a sweet ache in her belly and a delicious tingle on her spine. An arm curves across her back, a gentle touch that feels more relaxing rather than imposing. A reminder that he is there, rather than a shackle to keep her in place.

It is not normal for her to wake up this way. Drifting towards consciousness with dreamy precision. Years of military training had instilled in her the ability to wake clearheaded. To snap from dreaming to awake without meandering between. But there's a subtle softness to the world. A blurry haze that makes the morning seem far too soft edged to be real.

Her gaze drifts up, sliding eagerly over the sight of him. Bunched in soft white sheets, baring a tantalizing fragment of his form. Lightly tanned skin, framed by the soft billow of the white. She's close, close enough to feel the heat of him. Its…relaxing. As if this is exactly where she should be.

He looks strangely peaceful in slumber. For someone who vibrated with such intense energy, seeing him like this is almost strange. His face relaxed, the careful charming banter he often wears like armour now a distant thing in his sleep. Perhaps it is the nice morning, the subtle fuzziness, or the utter satisfaction that tinges the morning air, but in that moment he is everything she has ever wanted. She would give up any prize, any job to stay by him. Not because he'd ask that of her, which he wouldn't. But because he clicks into place. The pieces of him line up with the pieces of her. It makes her feel whole and that's a feeling she wants to keep forever.

She counts the soft even breaths he takes. Analysing and memorising every facet of expression on his face. The way his nose scrunches ever so slightly when he inhales. The subtle lines that the years have etched into his skin. She wants to remember this forever. Thankfully with a mind like hers, that's not outside the realm of possibility.

There are things that she's done that will stick with her. Moments that are etched into her skin and bones. The triumph she felt when she figured out how to make the Stargate work. The elation she felt as problems that had plagued her finally fell into a workable solution. The flickering shuddering rush of terror and joy as she got them into and out of tricky situations. But interspersed with these moments, were flashes of him. the way the sunlight seemed to caress his face when he was sitting by his lake. The calm focused look he wore when they hunted Ja'fa in the forests of P3X-293. The desperate haunted look he wore when he tried to bring down the force field between them in the belly of a soon to explode Goa'uld ship.

They've danced this dance a long time. Carefully stepping on the edge of a line too painful to endure. Too afraid to step across for fear of shattering everything, but unable to back away with their hearts still painfully bound together.

Now that she's taken this step, now that they've tumbled from that line together, she knows she won't regret it. How could she?

There is an irrevocable rightness to this. a sweetness far too potent to deny. It's not just the way he plays her body like an instrument, the way his touches set fire to her blood and turn her brilliant mind to shambles. It's the way he completes her. Not in words, because she can speak circles around him. Rather it's in the way he balances her. He rounds out her sharper edges. It's the way he makes her feel safe, and secure. It's been a long time since she needed someone else to make her feel that way. She's far from helpless after all. But he brings her peace. He brings her joy.

And most of all. He brings her love.

She will never give that up.

* * *

 _Authors note:_ _I'm afraid that this is the end, at least for now. I may, in the future, write a little more for it if i can think of some ideas and if you guys really want me too._

 _Thank you to all those that have reviewed, you've made writing this story a lot more fun ;)_

 _And if you're a new reader who has just come across this story in the completed section, I'd love it if you guys would tell me what you think in that shiny little box down below._

 _Anyway, Ta Ta for now,_

 _~MadamRed_


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